Sonorous
by CCatastrophe
Summary: Exhaustion sets in and the devil retreats, content for now. His victim is still, the steady drip drip of blood the only noise in the abandoned warehouse. It's always darkest before the dawn. CHAPTER ONE REWRITTEN
1. Prologue

God and the Devil came together to have a cup of tea

By CCatastrophe

A/N: I recently got sucked into the Netflix adaptation of Marvels Daredevil, the moment I started watching I fell in love with the characters, the plot and everything about it. This is a small token of my appreciation to the creators.

Disclaimer: I do not own Daredevil, but I assure you if I did it would be twice as dark.

His hands shook.

Red liquid dribbled out of the corner of his mouth, an overly sensitive nose filling with the smell of iron and death. The devil inside screaming, tearing, pulling at his skin to be let loose, _just let me loose. _Pain, pain, grounding him, keeping him sane, or at least as sane as he will ever be. Slow but steady, breaths strained, he still put one foot in front of the other. There was a clink of metal and the feeling of something moving through the air quickly, a crowbar?

He moved to the side, narrowly missing a devastating blow to already cracked and damaged ribs. _Punch, dodge, twist, kick, dismantle but do not kill. Never kill. _The attacker fell to the ground, a sack of limp bones joining the others, heartbeat faint but still there.

Scared mewling, a frightened child barely four, running to him, hugging his legs, begging to be taken home. _Please. _Battered, bruised, arms straining with effort he lifts the child, _you are safe. _He whispers, the child now burying his small curly haired head into his chest, aggravating bruises but there are no complaints coming from the masked man.

Limping, dripping blood, he only barely notices the click of a gun, and as he flips out of the way, the bullet lodges itself in his precious cargo. A sickening squelch and gurgling, the boy falls limp in his arms. He already knows death is coming, the bullet stuck between bone and cartilage, because he can hear the small child's heart_ slowing, pitter pattering, straining to hold on. _Anger makes his blood boil, the devil lurches, seeing its opportunity, its opening.

He sets the boy down, _carefully, carefully. _Spins around, and lets the anger take over, lets his boot crush that man's brain who took an innocents life straight into the concrete, _where it belongs, what he deserves. _

Exhaustion sets in the devil retreats, content for now. His victim is still, the steady _drip drip _of blood the only noise in the abandoned warehouse. He collapses to the ground, searching for the faint heart beat he _hoped, prayed_ was still there. Hands find the face, the nose, the lips, still, unmoving. The candle of life snuffed out by one mans agenda.

_It's my fault. _

A/N: Now if you guys would like me to expand on this story, then please leave a review. They make my drive to write come alive.


	2. Chapter One: Memento Mori

_Memento Mori_

'_Remember that you have to die'_

_Chapter One_

.DD.

"I happened across an old man in the street who'd dropped his groceries," Father Lantom leaned closer to catch the words of the man in front of him, fingers lightly gripping the edge of his latte. "He stopped me from helping him retrieve the fallen meats and vegetables, instead he picked all of his things up and asked me to walk him home."

The man paused to take a sip of his latte, cringing for a second at the bitterness, tongue darting out to catch the last stray drops collected on his lips. Father Lantom gestured for him to continue, leaning back a bit, intuition telling him this may be a long story.

"As we neared where he lived he stopped me from continuing and led us to a bench. He told me he was going to tell a story, and that I should listen closely because I looked like the kind of man who needed a good story." The man flashed his teeth, quickly, barely a smile and Father Lantom let out a soft chuckle. "I told him I agreed and he began the story. God sits in a coffee shop, sipping on a sweetened cup of tea another cup resting on the other side of the table, the Devil walks in and sits down across from God and retrieves his cup of tea, taking a sip. The owner glances over once a bit concerned, but barely spares the odd pair in the corner a second glance."

"When they are both done their tea, the Devil and God stand up linking arms and leave out the way they came. The owner thinks nothing of it, not being a very religious man himself, and continues with business until an old lady with weathered hands comes up to the counter and asks him who they were. He simply says 'the best of friends'." Looking up the man takes another sip of his latte and waits for Father Lantom's nod to tie it all together. "The old man then walked into his house, groceries in hand and I never saw him again."

Matthew Murdock stands up, adjusting the blacked out glasses perched on the bridge of his nose with a small smile and sets the now empty latte back on the table.

"Thank you for the latte Father, always appreciated, I'll be on my way now," says Murdock, a faint smile still on his lips as he walked out.

.DD.

Clad in red he walked on the edge of a building carelessly, head cocked towards the city below, wind whistling about him, ripping at his sides. The smells and scents and noises filling his very being as he filtered through them, a cat was meowing to be fed, a man was dying, a woman was just proposed to, and then…

And then…

A scream.

He started running.

.DD.

Matt knows things. He knows if someone's lying from the beat of his or her heart. He knows that the dog down the street only has one leg. He knows that a bird just landed on the roof of a nearby building. He knows that a little girl cries herself to sleep every night while her parents are yelling. He knows that a boy is limping home after an encounter that will forever change his life. He knows that a man in his apartment building is dying of lung cancer and he knows that same man stumbles outside every morning for a smoke. Matt knows things.

After nights where he crawls home, battered, bruised and bloody from protecting the city, he will lay awake and listen to the sirens. Listen to the slowing of a man's heart, till it reaches a full agonizing stop. Listen to the pipes groaning, creaking. He'll listen and he'll know and he'll lay awake until exhaustion forces him to sleep.

_'You're going to get yourself killed if you keep this up_.' And he knows Foggy's right. He knows that it's hopeless. _Knows_ that he's doomed to die, alone and cold, just another blip in time. He knows that he can never stop everyone, he knows he's not enough, _can never be enough_... But he also knows that if he didn't drag himself out every night, didn't break the nose, the arm and the leg of the man who molested his daughters and just let it go on, knowing... He'd be just as bad as that man. _Just as bad._

It could be an excuse to let out the devil. The devil that is always clawing, ripping, _screaming_ to be free, to let it drink it's fill of violence, _be satiated_ but in the end, that doesn't matter. Matt will continue to know. He will continue to listen to the cat pee in the alley, to the woman yelling into her phone angry because her husband cheated on her, to the cracking and shifting of bones in a body yards away. And maybe, just maybe, he'll make a difference along the way.

.DD.

Claire was something he didn't know, something he hadn't prepared for. She was like wild fire in a lake, impossible, impractical, but there. Her touch could feel like thousands of needles pricking him at once but it could also feel like the softest silk in the world. There was love between them but it was intangible. It wasn't real, could not be real, because of him, because of who he was, _it could never actually be_.

That's why he'll stumble in through her window at four in the morning, oozing blood out of a deep cut to his abdomen, countless other lesions littering his body. She'll ask no questions, simply pull out the medical kit and patch him up, soft touches, extra soft like she thinks he'll break if she's not careful, _careful_. And if he cries, if she holds him and strokes his hair as he lets out all the pain bottled up deep, _deep_ inside, she'll never speak a word about it and neither will he.

.DD.

_Chains rustle and clink, bruises blossoming on already bruised wrists. Heart thump, thump, thumping away like a metronome in a silent room, maybe not even there. There is no light; there is no dark, the pitter-pattering of rats crawling through the ceiling, the floor, the only companions in this nocturnal prison. Soft moans and whimpers escaped cracked, abused lips, powerful hands shaking and straining against the metal cuffs. _

_Loud clanging filled the dark room with a cacophony of sound. Widening eyes and raspy breathing, a tall figure bending down, gracefully, gracefully. _

'_There is no hope,' worlds only a whisper, a jab, a shard of glass piercing the soul over and over… _

"_You will always end up here."_

When Matt wakes up, covered in sweat, heart thump, _thumping, _away, he doesn't get back to sleep.

.DD.

_Fortitudine Vincimus_

'_By endurance we conquer'_

A/N: So I decided I didn't like the first chapter much, mainly I didn't like the part with Foggy. This is my re-write, you may be seeing a lot of these revised chapters because I do not have a beta reader. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this version more, I certainly do.


	3. Re-vamped! Chapter Two: Ante Bellum

A/N: Sorry it is so short, I wrote this at 1 in the morning while my friend was playing league. I think I'll add more when I'm less tired but until then here you are. Remember to review, it makes me happy and makes me more inclined to write. ;)

_Ante Bellum_

_Before the War_

_Chapter Two_

It's on a Sunday that the world stops.

Matt is walking to the law firm, birds chirping away and the sun scorching, civilians milling about their collective heartbeats one big mass of noise. People move apart when they see his cane but he doesn't mind, likes the space. Cars meander by as if even the overwhelming heat tames them, and voices humbled by the nice weather float up and down the street.

It's a nice day. He doesn't expect his phone to go off, but it does. He doesn't expect the man on the other end to tell him that Karen Page, _Karen_, was caught in the middle of a robbery, but he does. He doesn't expect this stranger, this imposter to tell him, with the sun beating down on his neck, _burning, burning_, that he's sorry, that she died in the crossfire. But he does.

Matt doesn't go to work that day.

.DD.

Foggy cries.

Foggy cries a lot. They're at the funeral, Karen's beloved family scattered around her body, her lifeless, still body. Matt doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to do, doesn't remember how to breathe. The anger and pain boils beneath his skin, simmering, _simmering_. She didn't deserve a death likes this, didn't deserve this cold release from the world, _but who ever did. _

When Foggy hugs him, tight, _so tight_, he shivers and pulls away. He knows his friend, his best friend, is hurt and shocked but he also understands. He tells Matt so.

"She would've wanted us to be strong," Foggy whispers, voice cracking his breaths rapid. Matt tries to find the beat of Karen's heart, willing her by some miracle to come back because_ they need her damn it._

Matt repeats Foggy's words over and over again when he smashes the man who killed Karen's face in.

.DD.

No one notices Matt slipping and sliding down deeper and deeper into the pit of insanity. For some reason he doesn't mind though. Foggy starts to talk to him less and less and he can't remember the last time they actually had a _conversation_. The office of Nelson and Murdock is barren and bleak, only sucking the life out of them both now that Karen is gone. Now that she's rotting in the ground. It was so _wrong._

They tried to hire a new secretary, to fill the gaping hole she left in their lives but no one could replace her, _no one_. Matt hits the streets every night now, he doesn't care that his body is running down because it wasn't fair that _she_ was dead and he… _he was still here._

Matt can't remember the last time he smiled. It must've been when things were better, when things were good. Like the night they'd put Fisk away, laughing and joking, joy and safety enveloping them for the first time in forever. Matt can't even remember what safe feels like.

.DD.

"The sky has fallen," Foggy says softly one day when they're sitting in the office eating lunch. The stink of a three-meat sub still on his breath, coating everything around him. "The sky has fallen, and so have we."

"What do you mean?" Matt asks, and for first time he wonders if he's the only one slowly descending into madness.

Foggy's silence speaks numbers.

.DD.

Claire is worried about him. She hovers about his wounds hands tender and warm. She doesn't ask him if he's alright though, and that's just one of the many things he loves about her.

"You have to be more careful Matt... I'm scared the next time you come to me it will be in a body bag." Claire has never spoken to him in a quieter voice, and he knows there are tears on her face. When he reaches up to wipe them away she holds onto his hand and doesn't let it go.

"Hells kitchen has never needed me more..." He whispers and he doesn't care, _can't care_, about the tears carving paths and lines into his skin, marking him. She shivers, squeezes his hand and cries. Matt wants nothing more than to kiss her pain away, _nothing more_, but he knows he can't. It kills him to know that he caused this, that he is responsible for her sorrow. "Putting Fisk away was just a start, I can't let anyone else I care about die."

Claire kisses him on the forehead before he leaves.

.DD.

Matt dreams that night.

He dreams that Hell's Kitchen is the city he's always wanted it to be. He dreams that Karen, sweet, soft but unbreakable Karen, never met him, never once crossed his path. He dreams that he's flying, that he's soaring through the sky, cutting through jagged, deformed clouds like a knife through butter.

Then he dreams that he's falling.

.DD.

"_And I should have been a pair of ragged claws, scuttling across the floors of silent seas." _

\- T.S. Elliot


End file.
